


Mine Carts

by Bofur1



Series: Where Sickness Thrives... [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Injury, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hand Feeding, House Cleaning, Playing Doctor, Ur Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clearing his throat, he began, “Alright, Bifur, here we go.”</p><p>Bifur couldn’t help but moan. “You’re really going to try the mine cart trick?”</p><p>Bofur patiently hovered the spoon around his mouth. “Th’ mine cart goes int’ th’ tunnel with its shipment o’ food...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine Carts

Bifur gave a sigh as he knelt, peering beneath his bed at the dust bunnies floating about on the floor. For the past hour he’d been dusting every flat surface in his room, for it was all coated in grime.

In truth housework was the last thing Bifur wanted to do; he’d much rather being playing with his little cousins, who had been dropped off with him for the day. Though Bifur had been putting off the chores for as long as he could, it was getting out of control and he knew he couldn’t wait another day.

“Play nicely while I’m working, alright?” Bifur had instructed his cousins.

“But cousin Bifuurrr!” the Dwarflings moaned together.

“No ‘buts’, lads. Just play together until I’m done.”

As he adjusted his hold on his dust wipe, Bifur tried to block Bofur and Bombur’s disappointed looks from his mind. Bifur reached beneath his bed and swept vigorously at the dust. As a cloud billowed into his face, Bifur tensed and then shuddered with a great sneeze. Bifur sat up, rubbing his irritated nose, and heard a horrified gasp behind him.

“Cousin Bifur, ye’re sick!”

Bifur looked over his shoulder in surprise. Bofur and Bombur were standing in the doorway together with concerned expressions on their faces.

“What...?” Bifur was confused.

“Bifuh sick!” Bombur echoed worriedly.

Bofur launched himelf forward and slapped a small hand onto Bifur’s forehead. “I think ye have a fever,” he proclaimed fretfully.

Bifur would have laughed if his cousins’ concern wasn’t legitimate. “Bofur, I don’t have a fever. I’m a bit warm because I’ve been working, but—”

“Lie down, Bifuh!” Bombur commanded. The toddler’s voice was authoritative and Bofur agreed, pushing Bifur’s box of cleaning supplies off the bed with a crash that made Bifur cringe.

“Bombur’s right, ye need t’ rest. Get in bed.”

“Come now, lads, there’s no reason to get worked up!” Bifur protested, but Bofur hauled him up with surprising strength and pushed him onto his bed, pulling the blanket up to his beard.

“Bombur, go into th’ kitchen an’ get Auntie’s kit,” Bofur ordered. Bombur obediently scurried off, returning soon with a medical set that Bifur’s ama kept.

“How did you know where it was?” Bifur asked, surprised.

Not bothering to answer, Bombur retrieved a roll of bandages and began to wrap one meticulously around Bifur’s unharmed forehead. Bofur pulled out a spare can of soup and a measuring spoon.

“Bofur, Bombur,” Bifur whined. “Please, this is completely unnecessary!” His little cousins completely ignored him. Bombur continued swaddling him and Bofur carefully quantified out a portion of the soup.

“Eat this,” Bofur encouraged, shoving the spoon in Bifur’s face.

“It’ll make you bettuh,” Bombur hummed breezily as he moved on to Bifur’s unbroken arms.

“You’re wasting supplies,” Bifur announced before stubbornly sealing his lips. Bofur glanced helplessly at his brother.

“Mine cart!” Bombur piped up wisely.

Bofur gasped and nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! Thank ye, Bombur.” Clearing his throat, he began, “Alright, Bifur, here we go.”

Bifur couldn’t help but moan. “You’re really going to try the mine cart trick?”

Bofur patiently hovered the spoon around his mouth. “Th’ mine cart goes int’ th’ tunnel with its shipment o’ food...” Bofur made an absurd noise that was supposed to sound like a mine cart. “Ch-ch-chug. It’s a-comin’!” When he saw his cousin’s irritated expression, Bofur gave a sigh and pleaded, “Please, Bifur, eat it! Ye know ye’re hungry.”

“Oh, fine,” Bifur grumbled, closing his mouth around the spoon. Bofur’s face lit up in delight and he began to scoop out another serving.

* * *

“Please, Bifur, eat it,” Bofur whispered desperately. For what seemed the thousandth time he held a spoon of broth before his cousin’s lips. “Ye know ye’re hungry.”

These past days hadn’t been Bifur’s best. The campaign-turned-Orc attack that had left Bifur brain-whooped was only a week and a half ago. During that time, Bifur had refused to eat anything given to him. Even if Bofur and Bombur managed to get something in his mouth (a miracle in itself), he would instantly spit it out.

Now, as usual, Bifur growled low in his throat and smacked the spoon away. In defeat Bofur hurled the bowl of stew onto the floor and screamed wordlessly at the ceiling.

Bombur paused in his bandaging of Bifur’s freshly scarred forehead to look on his brother with sad eyes.

“He won’t eat th’ thrice-cursed soup!” Bofur wailed miserably.

“I know,” Bombur said gravely. “But we have to keep trying.”

“Oh, it’s no use, Bombur,” Bofur moaned. “He’s fixed on starvin’ himself!”

“You can’t blame him,” Bombur sighed wearily. “He doesn’t know.”

“I think he does,” Bofur disagreed. “But he’s just so depressed that he's...givin’ up.” Grief hitched in Bofur’s voice and he bit his lip.

Bombur reached over and seized his brother’s hand. “Bofur,” he said very softly. “If he truly knows who he is and who we are, as Óin says, he won’t give up.”

“Doctors _can_ be wrong.”

“But we know Óin’s opinion can be trusted,” Bombur insisted.

 “Yeh...I s’pose.”

“Try again,” Bombur encouraged.

Dolefully Bofur nodded. Very slowly he picked up the bowl from the floor and refilled it from a larger pot on a nearby table. With a shuddering breath, he retrieved the spoon and measured out another serving. He gazed dejectedly into his cousin’s defiant eyes and mumbled flatly, “Th’ mine cart goes int’ th’ tunnel.”

At those words, Bifur’s face contorted in an expression of puzzlement and...was that recognition? Bofur felt a small bit of hope perk up in his heart. Cautiously he held out the spoon. “Here it comes: th’ mine cart. It has good stuff in it, Bifur. Ye’ll like the soup, an’ it’s good fer ye—”

Before he could finish the sentence Bifur had clamped his mouth around the spoon. Bofur gave a gasp of joy as Bifur swallowed the soup. There was a pause. Bofur and Bombur waited anxiously. Would Bifur keep it down?

“ _Mê dulaz_ ,” Bifur intoned in Khuzdûl, shifting and hungrily eyeing the bowl in Bofur’s other hand.

A smile spread on Bofur’s face and he glanced in disbelief at Bombur, who beamed back ecstatically.

“Y’see, Bifur?” Bofur laughed joyously. “I knew ye’d like it!”

Bifur gave an exasperated huff and then motioned impatiently to the bowl. “ _Dulaz_.”

“Yer wish is m’ command, Yer Liege!” Bofur said in relief as he spooned up some more stew.


End file.
